Breakfast
by JueJue
Summary: Hermione Granger keeps waking up in Fleur Delacour's bed. Naked.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Hermione Granger keeps waking up in Fleur Delacour's bed. Naked.

**A/N**: Had to get this out of my head. I'll update Chapt2 of _Souvenirs_ tomorrow. Pinky promise! AU where Fleur doesn't get married...well..not to Bill... ;) Un-beta'd so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

* * *

**Breakfast**

* * *

She thought she had skipped over that stage already; partying late, coming back with strange men and waking up with an astounding headache. Technically though, she hadn't partied extremely hard or late, her and Fleur fell into bed before midnight. Nor was Fleur a strange man. And Fleur had made her drink a glass of water beforehand so her headache was more of an occasional throb.

_I hate Mondays_, Hermione thought.

She was laying in Fleur's bed, smelling like Fleur and she was sure there was some of Fleur's lipstick still marking her chest and neck. When she first woke up she thought last night was another one of her bizarre dreams but, even in her dreams, satin sheets didn't feel _this_ good.

Except, she didn't own satin sheets.

And she was utterly, inexplicitly naked.

Hermione let out a groan, hands coming up to cover her face in sheer embarrassment as the force of all the facts came down onto her.

"Not_ again._"

* * *

The first time it happened, they were celebrating Harry and Ron's capture of an escaped giant at the local pub.

"An' then he grabbed me, right by the torso," Ron slurred, wildly waving his hands in exaggeration. "Felt like a ton of bricks trying to squeeze my insides out and Harry, mate you were out cold when he kicked ya."

Harry laughed, nodding. "Next thing I know, I'm waking up to some wood nymphs carrying me by the arms and legs through the forest. Turns out, Ron had tickled the poor guy into submission and the nymphs were watching the whole thing!"

"They wanted to thank us," Ron winked, finishing the last of his ale. "But Harry, so damn responsible, said 'I'm sorry, I we've got to get the troll back right away' and _ran_ from the nymphs. The Boy-Who-Lived! Running from wood nymphs!"

Harry blushed, George and Ron roared with laughter. Fleur sipped on her wine, quietly enjoying the conversation. Hermione allowed her eyes to dance between her friends. It was good to see them again after Ron and Harry disappeared on their most recent adventure, George was left to manage his shop alone and was constantly busy…and Fleur….

Her eyes slipped over to the curious Frenchwoman sitting diagonally from her. Even in a crowded bar scene, Fleur drew enormous attention. She was easily the prettiest woman in the room and muggles, unable to see the faint silvery glow around her, wasn't even remotely aware of her magical charm. As if on cue, a drink was delivered by a scantily clad waitress. This cut Hermione's train of thoughts. The beer wasn't helping either.

"From the gentleman in the blue tie, Fleur." The waitress, Hadley, nodded to the right. "Is he a keeper?"

Fleur shook her head without looking.

"Wait!" George nearly stood from his seat, hands flashing upwards next to him as if he were a traffic guard. Hadley stopped in her tracks. "I have a game."

"Always with the games," Ron snorted. "Go on now. Out with it."

"For every drink Fleur gets tonight, we drink. First one to back out takes the tab."

"That's completely unfair." Hermione declared dizzily, "You Weasleys have an obnoxiously large amount of tolerance. And Fleur's French!"

"What's zat got to dew wit anything 'Ermione?" Fleur asked, faking her accent.

"You know you actually used to sound like that? All the time." Hermione replied, smirking and daringly raising an eyebrow. The table broke into laughter again, Ron howling and beating his fists on the table. "And I see you out on your balcony, sipping away on your wine, you alcoholic."

Fleur's eyes narrowed, still sparkling with mirth. "You're going to pay for that," she whispered dangerously before turning over to their patient waitress. "Give us a round of whiskey."

"Game on."

The table cheered. Harry looked scared.

By the end of the night, they were too tired and happy to care about the tab, splitting it evenly five ways. It was always like this with George's games; very rarely did they have to actually suffer the consequences. The jokester disappeared in the alleyway to apparate home to "his baby", a name he lovingly called his shop. Ron and Harry, sharing a flat, stumbled home together trying and failing to keep each other upright.

Hermione couldn't remember which direction her own flat was in but knew that it was in the opposite direction of Ron and Harry's so she turned her back to them and began walking. An arm snuck around her waist to help her steady herself.

"Are we goin' in the right direction?" Hermione asked, leaning on Fleur.

The blonde hummed.

"You surrre?"

Fleur laughed, "I am fairly certain, _ma chérie._"

"I am so fairly drunk." Hermione declared into the cool night air, taking vast interest in the swaying streetlamps. It was _fairly_ romantic.

There, there that thought was. The one that bubbled from out of nowhere. She had been thinking about something… her thoughts and Fleur being strange but she couldn't recall it. Certainly, it wasn't important then. Besides, Fleur was too pretty not to stare at. The several rounds of alcohol, whiskey, beer, tonic that tasted like petrol, whiskey again and…Hermione couldn't remember.

But Fleur sure was pretty.

"What are you smilin' at?" Fleur asked, pulling her to the inside of the street to avoid traffic.

"You." Hermione grinned. "You're so pretty, yknow that?"

"So, I've been told. Doesn't hurt if I hear it from you more often though."

"I'm mentally rolling my eyes. You're _that_ vain."

Fleur's laugh, an elegant and graceful chime, marked with husky breaths rang through the night.

They stumbled into their apartment building a few minutes after, both groaning at the broken elevator. _At least we live only on the third floor_, Hermione thought, dragging herself up the stairs with Fleur in tow. Fleur, not any less drunk but having a wee bit more control over her motor skills began playfully shoving Hermione forward.

"No pushing!" Hermione commanded, bossy as always.

When they reached Fleur's doorstep, Hermione turned back around, facing the blonde, and pushed back.

"Serves you right." Hermione teased.

Fleur chuckled, trying to stand up straight but was unsuccessful, needing to grab ahold of Hermione's arm. "You're in front of my door," Fleur observed then gestured to the door adjacent to hers. "You live there. Me, here."

"I know." Hermione wasn't sure why she was being so stubborn. Maybe because, technically, Fleur won at their drinking game and she wasn't done extracting her revenge on Fleur's abuse of her spanning three flights of stairs.

"Hermione Granger." Fleur declared, "I am very drunk and would like to go to bed so_ déplacer s'il vous plait._"

"I speak-o the English-o."

"You are such a smartarse. Now move."

Hermione crossed her arms, defiant. She loved it when Fleur lost her composure. In response, Fleur moved closer until their hips bumped into each other. Hermione was pleasantly—no, _un_pleasantly—surprised when the taller woman's breasts suddenly came into contact with hers. Her mind began to buzz, even more unclear than before.

"Make me."

Fleur, as if it were somehow possible, leaned in even closer until their foreheads touched-tongue wetting kissable, lipstick stained lips. Impossibly blue eyes, somewhat heavy lidded, looked at her with want. Hermione felt electricity shoot from her stomach to the space between her legs. A soft gentle hand fell onto her pelvic bone, tracing the curve of the bone that was covered in jeans and the higher, skyward, under her shirt until a single thumb rested on Hermione's skin.

"Don't tempt me."

"You don't see me moving." Hermione replied even when her knees felt like they were about to give out on her. Her lips didn't close all the way when she finished speaking and they drew Fleur's eyes, pupils dilated.

At the same time that their lips were about to meet Fleur's keys slipped into the apartment's doorknob and Hermione, who had been leaning against the door, lost balance and staggered backwards. She was briefly disappointed at the loss of contact until Fleur's hand, the one that had been partly under her shirt, making her skin hot and goosebump pulled her until they were just as close as before and then—even closer.

Hermione wasn't sure who kissed who first.

The rest of her memories blurred as she tried to recall them the morning after. The bits after their kiss that she could remember made her face turn a disastrous shade of red. To make matters worse, Fleur acted as if nothing had happened, as if Hermione hadn't run out of her room and into her own home _next door_. The French woman even had the audacity to knock on her door, barely three hours since Hermione made her escape to return a black laced bra.

"You forgot this." Fleur said, smiling casually, a pink blush spread across her face.

Hermione took her undergarment and closed the door with barely a word of goodbye.

* * *

The second time it had happened, it was barely a week after the first incident. Hermione's resolve to avoid alcohol for the rest of her life was not strong. Besides, Fleur acted as if nothing happened. She should too.

It did bother her though. A small part of her wanted Fleur to react, to act as if having sex meant something.

They were at their usual spot in their usual pub. Everything was usual. Hadley was even there, waitressing as she always did. Hermione drank too much, that was not usual. Fleur kept glancing up at her, that wasn't usual either. George was telling them about a girl he had met at his shop. Hermione couldn't concentrate.

"Are you alright, 'Mione?" Harry asked, boyishly pushing up his glasses.

"Rough day at the Ministry." She replied curtly. Fleur was looking at her again.

"You ought to try workin with this bugger here." Ron said, "Does nothing but try to get the ladies."

George snickered. "Hurry up and finish your auror's training so you can run away with Harry again. Maybe you'll come back married next time."

Ron turned purple. Harry turned sickly pale.

Fleur laughed. "Are you two…?"

"No. No!" Ron spoke first. Harry shook his head furiously in agreement.

Fleur shrugged, looking at Hermione. "Nothing wrong with it."

Of course theres nothing wrong with it! Hermione wanted say. Whats wrong is you're my friend in the daytime and then shag me at night!

"Whatever floats your boat." George nodded. "If Hermione decided she wanted become a beaver muncher overnight, I say go for it!"

Hermione's face burned. The table laughed. Fleur wouldn't stop looking at her.

"Would you do it?" George suggestively wiggled his fire red eyebrows, "Would you jump the fence?"

Not knowing what else say, Hermione shot back, "Would you?"

_Would she?_

The table silenced, waiting for an answer. George shrugged, "I guess, it comes down to the person. If the Right one happen to be a guy, well, he's a guy! But at the current moment? I have Ms. Right Now and she's _gorgeous.._."

She wasn't sure when their group had formed such a close bond.

Maybe it was after the war, George still trying to find a way to make ends meet without Fred there. He was so lost. Naturally, Ron stepped up to help him. Harry followed since his position as an auror allowed him to live almost anywhere. He met Fleur at Gringott's one day, turned out the couple living in the apartment next to her was moving (something about the husband and his sudden crush on Fleur), Hermione needed a place to stay since she just graduated from Hogwarts and soon to start an internship at the Ministry of Law.

They fell into London like matching puzzle pieces, naturally making a family out of similar happenstances.

Hermione also wasn't sure how she ended up in Fleur's bed again, that Friday night. Fleur had helped her home, it was customary. Then they were kissing, cloths aggressively shredded by Hermione's own hands, Fleur was on top of her, mumbling things in French, they were very naked. Come morning time, she experienced the same horror as the previous week. Satin sheets and a blurry recount of last night's events. Too soft pillows, Fleur's arm draped (lovingly) around her, the faint smell of vanilla, sunlight and autumn surrounding her.

Hermione stiffened when she felt the bed shift beneath her. Fleur got up slowly, landing three kisses that trailed from her jaw, cheek and then, hesitantly, lips. Hermione's heart thumped hard against her ribcage. She wondered if the other witch could hear it.

"_J'attends le jour où vous sentez la même manière, ma cheire_" The blonde whispered, getting out of bed. With her eyes closed, she could hear Fleur make her way to the restroom, the bathroom door closing.

Hermione leapt from the bed, heart still thundering in her ears. She tried to find the remnants of her cloths that trailed from the doorway all the way to the bed. Her underwear and trousers lay conveniently on the floor in plain view, she dashed for them first.

_My shirt_, Hermione thought as she picked up her bra and put them on. She wasn't about to have another delivery to her door. _Where'd Fleur throw my shirt?_

"Your shirt," Fleur said, standing at the doorway to her restroom, toothbrush in her mouth. "I threw it over the kitchen counter."

Hermione ran her hand through her dark, curly locks, averting her gaze from Fleur's naked frame to the carpeted floor.

"Thanks."

As she was putting it on, Fleur called from the restroom. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

_How could Fleur sound so normal? We had just rolled in bed together. Again! _

"N-No. Thanks." Hermione sprinted for the door.

* * *

_Hermione let out a groan, hands coming up to cover her face in sheer embarrassment as the force of all the facts came down onto her._

_"Not again."_

For some inescapable reason, everytime she was in a social setting with Fleur that involved alcohol, she ended up in bed with her. This time is was Harry's surprise birthday party.(Too much rum). It was frustrating at the very least. The blonde didn't help by completely disregarding the events and acting as if everything was normal. She even invited Hermione out to shop with her the day after their second fumble!

Hermione heard the door unlock and didn't bother to look up to see who it was.

"_Bonjour_ Hermione. I am glad to see you awake." Fleur came in holding a bag of groceries. Magically, she assembled them all into the cupboards. "Would you like breakfast?"

There was the casual offer again. Hermione clung onto her sheets, gripping them tight to her body as frustration boiled over her.

"How can you act like nothing's happened?" Angry tears welled in her eyes, she wiped them away.

Fleur's voice came through from the kitchen. "How would you like me to react?"

"At least acknowledge that it happened."

"Okay, we had sex. Three times." Hermione could still hear Fleur clanging around in the kitchen. "Good sex too, if memory serves."

"That's it? Was that what I was? Another notch on your bedpost?" Disgust and shame pushed its way up her stomach like acid, burning.

"Of course not."

"So why won't you act like it mattered?"

"Because you won't."

"I—what?" Hermione stood up, sheets barely clinging to her body and marched to Fleur. "I don't—"

"—you're always the one to leave." Fleur shrugged, "I'm always here for breakfast, this _is_ my home, but you always run off. I took it as a sign that you didn't want it to be mentioned again. Was I wrong?"

_No. Yes _

Hermione took a seat on a stool, watching Fleur arrange two sets of plates on the counter, toast and silverware levitating to their place. "I'm here now."

"What would you like to discuss?" The taller, older witch sounded so distant and guarded, unlike her usual friendly self.

"This." Hermione swallowed, "How I end up in your bed once every weekend."

"We go out. We have fun, drink a little—or a lot. I unlock my door, we kiss, it usually goes something like that. Not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal? So you just have sex with your friends for _fun?_" Fleur scraped the eggs and sausage onto the plates. The fry landed loudly in the sink.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying Fleur?" Hermione pleaded, "Because sometimes, you're my friend and you do my nails because I suck at them and you're honestly good company but then sometimes, you look at me like…"

"...like what?" Hermione scoffed, heat rising to her cheeks. She should have thought before she spoke. "How do I look at you?"

Her gaze trailed from the breakfast on the kitchen counter to the woman standing beside her. "Like _that_. Like you want something more out of all of this."

"Doesn't matter. Even if I did want something more, I'm sure you don't." Fleur eyes turned downcast. "You don't, right?"

"N-no. Of course not." Hermione wondered where the disappointment had come and why it suddenly burned in her chest. "I'm sure it's just because you and I are twenty-three, twenty-five and single—"

"—if I kissed you right now, you wouldn't feel a thing, right?"

Before Hermione could respond, Fleur had transversed the space between them, allowing their lips to brush. Hermione's face heated up, her heart raced, her once clear thoughts blurred, and the world behind her closed eyes exploded with color. Out of instinct, Hermione opened her own mouth, sucking in Fleur's bottom lip.

Fleur moaned and Hermione decided that it was the sexiest noise, ever. It had awoken a deep hunger that shot to her core. The younger witch surged forward, standing upright so fast that the stool was sent clanging onto the floor—not that she cared. Sheets pooled at her feet as Fleur pulled her closer, one hand resting on her hip, the other gently guided Hermione's head to the side, exposing her neck. Fleur's lips trailed from her own to her jawline and followed it's curve to her ear.

"Tell me you don't feel anything, that it means nothing to you." As Fleur spoke, her voice got considerably softer until it was only a whisper. "Tell me now and this will all stop. I cannot resist you much longer."

Hermione whimpered. She couldn't deny it. Just as the request had been met with silence, their lips met again, this time braver and more desperate. Fleur knew her answer.

* * *

Second smutty part to come, soon.

Hurrr see what I did there. Thanks for reading! :) Send any prompts you have to my tumblr listed on my profile page. :) I love response as usual, they inspire me. My favorite review/response, by far, has been a passive aggressive anon telling me how much they ship Fleurmione thanks to me and how they hate me for it. *proud* Shoutout to all the lovely people who read this AND _Souvenirs, _you're awesome.


	2. Chapter 2

It's five in the fucking morning guys. I haven't slept properly in days because of work.

Please enjoy~

* * *

**Alcohol Anonymous**

* * *

Hermione had kissed boys before. She'd kiss Ron at one point in her life, many years ago when she had convinced herself that he would be the only person that would genuinely be interested in her. It tasted awkward, like kissing her own brother. His chin prickled hers, muscled arms warping around her thin waist.

It didn't feel right.

Once in a while, she would go out on dates with an interested coworker. The kisses at the end of the night were strange as well. Uneven, it left her feeling more alone than ever. They gave kisses that were too soft. Too demanding. Too much nose, too deep, too tall, short, unsteady, rigid…

Fleur kissed her like she didn't belong anywhere else in the world except right where she was at now; standing in front of the beautiful blonde, naked as the day she was born, hands weaved into smooth blonde hair. Fleur kissed her and the words she would've used to describe it evaporated from existence. It felt familiar—it should, they had kissed so many times before—and yet new, brighter, clearer and more definite in her sober state.

Hermione pulled away, feeling dizzy. She released a shaky breath, hitched as if her heartbeat were strong enough to offset her breathing. Fleur's face was flushed except for the soft pink that rested on the apples of her cheeks. She wondered if she looked the same. Her eyes strayed to Fleur's lips, pink and glossed with saliva.

"You're wearing too many cloths," Hermione commented, hands coming to pull the cardigan from Fleur's frame. They kissed again, this time deeper, her tongue willing pushing itself into the blonde's mouth. Hands came down to grope at her chest and Hermione leaned into them, pushing her shoulders back, offering more and more.

Between them the air was thick with want, trust, desperation and something more—Hermione didn't want to put a word to it.

Her hands continued to undress Fleur, working at incompliant denim. The other witch wasn't helping, brushing away her tentative fingers from button and then slipping a single, talented and frustratingly clothed thigh between her legs.

Hermione hissed.

_Oh_.

Fleur's hands shifted objectives, moving from her breasts to hips, forcing them to move at an agonizingly slow pace. Heat pooled below her navel, a familiar spring coiling inside of her begging to be released.

"Fleur." Hermione was breathless, "Fleur. Please."

Fleur responded with thrust of her hips, angled in such a way that made Hermione whimper. It seemed that Fleur knew every curve of her body, where to touch so that it would burn, where to kiss so that Hermione's thoughts jumbled into a mass of incomprehensible speech. She wanted to sputter, moan and cry out in pleasure, every centimeter of her body craving to touch, feel, mark, she was stretched in all possible directions wanting to do everything and everything at once to Fleur.

But it was so hard to concentrate, to pick a directive and then follow through when Fleur's hips rolled deliberately, when Fleur looked at her with eyes blue as the sky on a summer day and Fleur's kisses tasted like sunlight and vanilla and all the beauty in the world pressed into plump lips. She found herself helpless, muttering Fleur's name repeatedly as they rocked into each other.

Her hips grew frantic thrusting with force, edging herself on and on, slowly creeping onto a familiar yet exciting edge. Fleur's hands had long released her from her hold, allowing Hermione enough control to press forward until the blonde was pressed against the wall. The leverage was greatly improved and Hermione was rewarded with a strong upwards thrust, to which she replied with her own thigh. They moved in tandem, Fleur's lips relocating to the base of her neck and suckling as Hermione struggled to remove Fleur's shirt.

"Off." Hermione commanded at the shirt, "I swear to Merlin and all he holds dear, Fleur if your bloody shirt doesn't—"

Fleur bit down on velvety skin, scraping her canines down hard enough to make her breath hitch and send shockwaves of pleasure to her lower stomach. Thin, meticulously manicured hands tugged at the shirt until it was pulled over Fleur's head, displaying a pale pink bra. Hermione was pleasantly surprise to see that the clasp was at the front and made quick business of detaching the piece.

Shirt and bra fell onto the floor at the same time. Hermione's hips stilled.

She had seen other women naked before; living with Lavender who liked to sleep nude left less to the imagination. Hermione had seen herself naked in the mirror plenty of times, touched her own breasts, and repositioned them to fill her bra properly. Still, there was something especially glorious when she watched Fleur's nude breasts fall into place.

Hermione stared at Fleur, whose head was tilted back against the wall, breathing deep heavy breaths, eyes darkened tinged with insecurity. She looked especially beautiful, hair in complete dishevel, lips swollen, blushing from Hermione's hard gaze. Keeping eye contact, her hands traveled to meet soft, fleshy mounds, thumbs grazing tighten nipples.

Fleur made a sound.

Delighted, Hermione let her nails scrape against Fleur's nipples again, this time harder with more confidence. Again, Fleur held herself back.

_Third time's the charm_, Hermione thought, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Fleur wholesomely, sucking on her bottom lip the same time she took the sensitive skin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling slightly. Fleur moaned into her mouth, long and melodic. Hermione squeezed, caressed, kneaded, wanting to hear the sound again and again.

It was an admission of want, if one was ever needed.

Their pace increased again, Fleur actively arching into her hands, messily kissing her and whatever skin her lips could touch. The bump and grind resumed with more urgency, the need for release boiling to a point where both were moaning into the morning light, breakfast cold and forgotten. Summer was slowly slipping into fall, Hermione could feel it in the air.

Things were changing; something inside of her had clicked into place.

She had friends, a job and now—Fleur.

_I have a job_, Hermione thought suddenly. _I have a job._

She froze.

"It's Monday," she declared, her voice reached a new octave. "Work. Fleur. I forgot. I—we, Fleur. Oh Fleur. "

She was frantic, the reality of the situation crashing down on her until the blonde recklessly ground her leg up onto her core, continuing with desperation. Arms came around her waist, holding her there as Fleur worked her to the edge again.

"I want to make you scream," Fleur husked into her ear.

"I am," Hermione whimpered, turned on by such words. "I will, Fleur. Fleur. Please, I need—"

"I need you."

Hermione pulled away completely, startled at the confession. She watched Fleur's expression fill with regret and anger—at herself.

Too much.

Too soon.

"I…" Hermione was dizzy. She panicked.

"I'm sorry." Fleur's hands balled into a fist. "That was not needed."

"I need to go to work."

She disappeared in a _pop_, apparating with her wand leaving her cloths and Fleur behind.

* * *

She ruined it.

Fleur slid down the wall she had been leaning on until she was hugging her knees, tears welling in her eyes.

She had Hermione and now…

…she didn't.

* * *

Work was unpleasant.

The throb between her legs was distracting. Hermione found her thoughts wandering back to Fleur. To the morning and the night before. And the nights before those.

There was something between them. Hermione couldn't pinpoint what it was. She was never interested in girls—not consciously anyways. But Fleur, Fleur with her bright blue eyes and natural grace. Ever since she first laid eyes on the other witch, she knew there had been _something_. At Hogwarts, at the age of fourteen, Hermione would dismiss and ignore that _something_ as annoyance.

Immense annoyance.

Annoyance at the fact that she, too, felt a certain attraction towards the part veela. It wasn't how Ron described it, she didn't accidentally ask Fleur to the Yule Ball, nothing about the veela thrall compelled her to do anything ridiculous. But her thoughts wandered and so did her eyes, to the sway of Fleur's hips as she walked the long hallways of Hogwarts, she took a secret liking to the damned charming French accent. So she put distance. And so there was distance and feigned hatred, even more distance when Fleur began dating Bill. But the couple fell apart shortly after the war, similar to the way she and Ron did. Not out of hatred or infidelity. Simply because they were better as friends.

When Harry told her of the available flat next to Fleur's, she didn't hesitate to accept. Her two best friends were close. There was security in numbers. That part of her, the one that longed to hold Fleur's hands and dance to the delicate rhythm of music at the ball all those years ago, was buried. She disregarded Fleur's shy smile and the thump of her heart when they had met eyes again.

Hermione wasn't sure when the dreaded shopping trips started or when she and Fleur actually became friends but it was a slow, delicate, grown through years. Now, she was twenty three, that attraction to Fleur had reawakened. It didn't help that Fleur only grew increasingly beautiful through the years, braver, more confident in her abilities as a witch and in English until she was successfully bantering with Hermione.

She wasn't _gay_, Hermione deduced. Maybe Fleur-sexual. Maybe.

And Fleur! How long had the woman felt about her in such a way? They had nearly shagged, again. And a part of her was filled with delight, knowing that her feelings were not unrequited. A larger part of her was terrified at the prospect of being in a relationship. With another woman, no less!

Hermione shook her head and refocused on her work.

There was a time and place for everything. She had work to do. Tonight, Hermione told herself. Tonight, she was going to sort things out.

* * *

Hermione was brave, she was a Gryffindor after all. Brave, when she finished her work and began to pack piles of papers into her bag. She was brave as she threw the floo powder into the fireplace to head home. Hermione was brave when she combed her hair and straightened her cloths, brave until she was standing in front of Fleur's door.

Dementors, she could withstand. A war with the most powerful wizard that had split his soul into pieces never meant to be found? Piece of a cake. Fearlessly breaking into Gringott's bank and escaping on a dragon? She would rather do it again than stand there nervously shifting from foot to foot.

How would Fleur react? Would she be welcomed or denied entry? Would the blonde slam the door in her face? Swallowing all the possibilities, she knocked.

Fleur opened it, holding a glass of wine.

In her nervousness, Hermione blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"See I told you, you were an alcoholic."

Fleur froze, regarding her with curiosity. "You came here to tell me about my drinking habits?"

"No." Hermione tried to focus but her eyes drifted to Fleur's delicate form, clothed in a casual blouse and long skirt. "I—uhh. I wanted to talk."

"There isn't much to talk about." Fleur shrugged, "We can set this morning and the past weeks behind us, if that is what you wish."

_That would be nice_, Hermione though. These feelings, the way her eyes undressed Fleur openly after knowing what delicate skin laid beneath those layers of cloth, she could completely disregard them and she could possibly savage a friendship that took years to build. The thought was tempting.

It was the easy way out though and Gryffindor students are known for their bravery.

"What if I don't want that?"

Hermione watched as Fleur nearly choked on her wine but recovered with grace. She was French after all.

"What if, hypothetically, of course, I didn't want to forget about it because, theoretically speaking, I liked you."

Fleur's eyebrows curled in confusion. Hermione's words hung in the air. She fiddled with her wand.

"I suppose, if this scenario had presented itself, I would invite you in. We would talk." Fleur paused, a blush blooming across her countenance. "I would tell you how I feel. At best, you would return my feelings and I get to kiss you again. Worst case? You're disgusted and leave. "

Hermione's hand shook; she stuffed them in her coat pocket.

_Be brave!_

"However, seeing as this is purely speculative, I won't be wasting any more of your time. Good night Hermio—"

"You're the _worst_, Fleur." Hermione declared. "When something bothers you, you act like it doesn't. And you're completely okay with the outcome despite the fact that it may leave you miserable. And an alcoholic! I can't believe I like someone like you!"

"A glass a night does not constitute me as an alcoholic." Fleur rebutted. "It helps—"

Hermione stepped forward, crushing their lips together.

"Are you daft? I just told you _I like you_." Her hands gripped the collar of Fleur's shirt. "Do you know how nerve wracking it is to stand here and tell you that?"

"Do you know how much I like you, back?"

Hermione sputtered, the bravery disappearing with her ability to speak. She buried herself in the crook of Fleur's neck in pure nervousness, face crimson. She wasn't expecting such a comeback. They stood there like that for a moment, Hermione pressed into Fleur, hugging each other in the hallway of a muggle flat. The world didn't shift, it didn't stop spinning or shrink like it did in all those romance novels. Simply, the world felt balanced in a way Hermione didn't know it could.

"Can you look up so I can kiss you, _ma cherie_?" Fleur nudged her with her nose.

Slowly, Hermione did, meeting eyes with the young Frenchwoman. Their kiss felt right, no prickling mustache or too much tongue. It was chaste, soft and pleasant. Fleur tasted like cheesecake and wine, like sunlight and beauty, like the future. Instinctively, her hands wrapped around Fleur's neck, deepening the kiss until a soft cough broke them apart.

To Hermione's horror, Harry, Ron and George stood slack jawed, holding bottles of beer, wine and whiskey.

_Of course._

It was Monday Night Quidditch .

* * *

And you thought there was going to be SEX? Only after two chapters?! Well. I did plan this to be a oneshot. It's obviously taking its damn sweet time. :3 See you next chapter! As usual, I want to thank you all for reading. I love response but if you feel like "reviewing" would somehow give the story a better rating than it deserves, please PM me or send me an ask on tumblr. Good night!


	3. Chapter 3

Hello me lovelies! I'm sorry for the late update, I've rather been lacking in energy to write lately. (I spend my days in front of 4 LCD screens and 3 laptops at work, coding all day. Work has been especially difficult these last few days.) It's with honor that I bring to you Chapter 3! :)

Please enjoy~

* * *

**H is For Happiness**

* * *

Living in a houseful of ginger haired siblings, George thought he had seen it _all_. When Ginny first got her period, they were playing Quidditch and he, after losing a bet to Fred, was the one to guide her into the restroom and explain some of the strange intricacies of the female body because their mum had gone to the Ministry that day. George could remember the day he barged in on Ron wanking off, the day he found Percy's extensive stash of muggle magazines with scantily clad women in the front.

Between living as a Weasley and running a joke shop where he would receive letters and pictures of the mishaps his creations had made, George simply never considered there could be another incident in his life to make him gawk as much as he was now, staring at Fleur who was currently, very noticeably, unmistakably liplocked with Hermione.

Harry recovered first and coughed.

The two women broke apart. Hermione looked to be in a state of utter shock and turned white as paste. Fleur didn't fare much better but she at least to remember to breath. Not knowing what else to say, George fell back on his characteristically whimsical self.

"Is this your way of getting back at me for letting the dust bunnies loose in your apartment?"

"Was that you!?" Hermione turned red, "It took me a week to jinx them out of my room!"

"Apparently you don't need your room, mate. Fleur's place is right next door." Fleur's ears turned beet red. Hermione waved her wand and the wine bottle he was holding beat soundly against his leg, uncomfortably close to his privates.

"It's not what it looks like." Hermione insisted.

"What is it supposed to look like?" Ron said dumbly, "I kind of want to see it again—you know. To make up my mind."

Since Ron was standing in the middle, he received a very hard elbow jab from Harry and George almost at the same time. Ron doubled over, clutching his side, groaning an apology.

"It's…." Hermione began but couldn't finish her sentence, looking at Fleur for an answer. The blonde looked equally mystified.

"Look." Harry finally spoke, "It doesn't matter what it is. It's between you two."

George nodded in agreement. "But we still need your big television for Monday Night Quidditch, Fleur." He held up his portion of alcohol, most noticeably Fleur's favorite brand of red wine. "We don't break tradition."

Ever since the magical world had become more aware of what muggles achieve and the laws had been rewritten to be more inclusive of muggleborns, especially in public offices, a revolution began. Suddenly, the Ministry was hiring muggleborns to take apart and study muggle contraptions, while another group focused on integrating magical spells with the technology. The two seemingly opposite elements were slowly beginning to fuse.

Appropriately, one of the first breakthroughs was the ability to magically broadcast to any television without the need of a wavelength or frequency. That way, the magical world could be kept a secret while George could watch his all time favorite sport, instead of just listening about it on the radio or waiting until the next day to read it on the Daily Prophet. Because Fleur came from a lavishly well to do family, she was one of the first to receiving a magically enchanted television, the biggest one available at that time, for Christmas.

Automatically, her apartment became the central hub every Monday during Quidditch season .

Fleur nodded, stepping aside and gesturing them to enter. "Tradition is tradition."

The door closed behind the three of them.

With practiced ease, they set down the cornucopia of alcohol on the neat counter until Ron sputtered, grabbing at George's shirt and pointing to the kitchen table. There laid a pile of cloths, notably Hermione's favorite green turtleneck, and undergarments which would probably, most likely, belong to Hermione as well.

"_Are you alright, ma ami_?" They could hear Fleur's voice through the door, whispering to Hermione. George had never heard Fleur speak in such a calm, loving tone before. Ron was still frantically punching his arm, waving his hands at Hermione's cloths.

"What do we do?" Ron's face was red.

"Calm down." Harry whispered, "Just take it and put it in Fleur's room."

"_I'm okay_." Hermione answered Fleur. George had to strain to hear the rest. "_They didn't take it half as bad as I expected._"

"Why do I have to do it?" George shushed his brother, trying to listen on the conversation.

"_They love you_." Fleur laughed nervously, "_I must say though, I've never seen Harry's jaw drop so close to the ground._"

"Because I said so!" He replied belatedly, shoving the cloths in Ron's direction. "Go before they come in!"

Harry shushed loudly. "Both of you, keep it down!"

"_Are you okay with…everything?" _Hermione asked, concerned.

"_You kissed me._ _Hypothetically, if that ever happened, it would make me the luckiest woman in this world._"

"_You….you make me very happy, Fleur. That's not a theory. It never was._" The younger witch's voice was wrecked with emotion. A part of George wanted to leave and let the newly formed couple have their privacy. Unfortunately, George didn't have that kind of dignity or resistance against his curiosity to tune out. Not even Harry could resist eavesdropping.

"Okay, I did it!" Ron ran out of Fleur's bedroom, clumsy and looking like his pants had been set on fire. "And stop looking guilty and at least get the cups out!"

"_There's still a lot of figure out…but afterwards._" Hermione said. As if trying to reassure Fleur, she added, "_I like you, you alcoholic. Nothing is going to change that._"

Fleur laughed, "_Come along then, we can't leave the boys waiting._"

There was a long silence, George could only assume they were kissing, before the door opened and the two women walked in, Hermione linking a shy index finger to Fleur's pinky. "The remote is on the coffee table." The blonde said as if nothing had happened.

"Great!" All three of them scrambled to look natural in Fleur's kitchen. Ron was a little too excited, "I was just looking for it!"

They all settled down onto the couch, Fleur and Hermione took to sitting next to each other on the sofa with Harry to the right of them. Ron lunged for the recliner so George was left with the armchair.

"Brat." He muttered at his younger brother who made a face.

The rest of the night went as it normally did, Ron, Harry and him characteriscally loud and obnoxious debating about the year's star players and winning teams. Hermione chimed in to correct them but mostly remained quiet, tucked in Fleur's arms. Fleur was never a spirited follower of Quidditch unless it involved her beloved international French team and was mostly silent, sipping on her wine and rubbing Hermione's back from time to time.

George tried not to stare but as he drank, he couldn't help but keep glancing back at the two. He had an inkling that Hermione was a little more curvier than a ruler—something about the way she looked at Chang Cho or how she seemed just as drawn to the Beauxbaton uniforms as he ways—but Fleur, he would have never guessed. But Fleur had a way of hiding herself, always primed, proper, she had a way of making others feel welcomed even when she held herself back. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

He had heard about the way Fleur nursed Hermione back to health at Shell Cottage, how Bill and hers relationship turned stale shortly after that. Bill must've figured out the nature of Fleur's feelings towards Hermione but if that were the case, it meant Fleur had been in love with the dark haired witch for the better half of a decade now.

George shuttered at the thought. There was dedication in Fleur's eyes, a kind of determination and love when she looked at Hermione that made him almost envious. And Hermione soaked up the attention, occasionally nuzzling deeper into Fleur's curves and once even, daring to press a quick kiss against Fleur's cheek. He had never seen Hermione have such peace; her eyes were always in a book, taking in information or darting around the rooming constantly observing her surroundings. Even with Ron…

She and Ron had bickered their way into and out of a relationship. While his hot headed brother was busy enjoying his new status as a war hero, Hermione wanted to seclude herself and it caused a lot of tension, wearying Hermione thin because Ron refused to step away from the limelight. Things eventually gave way when she announced that she was going to return to Hogwarts to finish school and Ron had no intentions of doing such things. The already strained relationship broke with mutual understanding a month after Hermione began her studies.

It made sense then that Hermione was attracted to Fleur, a Triwizard Champion, graduating at the top of her class. George was sure there was a certain level of intimacy they reached after Hermione arrived at Shell Cottage, battered and broken. Again they rekindled whatever they had when Hermione moved in next door a year and a half later. He had heard about Fleur's rather extensive shopping trips from Harry and wondered how Hermione could stand doing it with the blonde on a bimonthly basis. George, before he found out the true nature of their relationship, knew that the two shared a special bond.

It took a certain kind of person to withstand Hermione's rage against the enslavement of magical creatures and constant yapping of information. And it took a kind of special person to shop with Fleur. In a sense, where Ron, Harry and George could empathize very little with the two, they became each other's support. Fleur was smart, witty even when she began to open up to the group, always warm and friendly. Hermione took to Fleur especially quickly, he remembered, helping her with her English the first year they all spent together.

George recalled, hilariously, years ago that Fleur was determined to say the "h" sound and practiced with Hermione on a nightly basis. Then, on a snowy day, she entered their local pub looking especially proud greeting them all, rather loudly, with the phrase "Hhha-penis!"

The pub grew quiet, Ron, Harry and George laughed so hard their bellies ached but it was Hermione, after slamming her hand on her forehead and massaging her temples, who made room, took Fleur by the hand and pulled her to sit down, repeatedly saying "happiness" with determined patience.

They complemented each other, he thought before turning his attention back to the screen.

* * *

Ron swayed onto Harry, holding his wand out.

George looked to be near collapsing.

"Oh no." Hermione scolded waving a finger warningly at them, "You three aren't apparating."

Fleur made a sound of agreement. "The wards on the apartment make it harder to come and go. I don't want a spinched arm dirtying my carpet. Use the Floo."

"Speak clearly." Hermione said, looking directly at Harry

"That was over a decade ago! You weren't even there!" He grabbed a fistful and spoke, with trying accuracy, of his home. Ron and George followed until there was no one left in Fleur's apartment except Hermione.

Without hesitation, Fleur's left hand came to gently cup Hermione's face, thumb running across her pink lips.

"You look absolutely stunning as always." Fleur said, licking her own lips.

"Says the most beautiful woman I've ever met." Hermione replied, closing the meter space between them. They kissed clumsily and, for the first time, Hermione was trying to remember the moment through her drunken haze. Her hands came up to unbutton Fleur's blouse but the blonde pulled away.

"Not like this." Fleur gasped, trying to calm herself. "I want to remember…everything."

Hermione swallowed, knowing Fleur was right.

"You can spend the night?" Hermione tongued a trail from the space between her collarbones to the middle of her neck. The blonde witch changed her question to a demand. "No. Please, _ma belle_, spend the night."

Hermione lifted her head, whispering an answer into Fleur's ear. "I plan to."

* * *

Lots of background, jokes, feel good stuffs and fluffs...I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think and/or what you want to see in the next chapter. Good day to you all! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone! I'm sorry for the late update. I took a mini vacation with my lovely girlfriend and now I'm back!

If you haven't already, I invite you to join us Fleur/Hermione shippers at the Fleurmione tag on Tumblr! There are tons of great writers and artists there. (Ressick, Anamatics, WhistleSilver and other great writers have tumblr accounts so go send them some creepy anon asks!)

construc crit (anon) Really love the username. :) I appreciate the advice but please know that this story does have direction. The last chapter was an interlude, a funsies chapter to show Fleur and Hermione's relationship through the eyes of another person. Does it further the plot? Absolutely not! Does it provide valuable insight onto the different friendships and how Fleur and Hermione's friendship is _different? _I think it does. :) As to the "stalker" plotline...well...you'll see. ;)

The point of _Breakfast_ isn't to be filled with action-y, plot complicating events. As a matter of fact, you'll notice the absolute lack of external conflicts within the story and I did that on purpose. **What is _Breakfast_ about?** _Breakfast_ is about coming to terms with one's own sexuality, it's about Hermione and her misconceptions of life, love and being totally into blonde, French woman. It's a love story, of course, but it's Hermione's story first and foremost.

Last and definitely not least, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers!

* * *

**Puzzle Pieces**

* * *

Fleur's hands searched her, running across every curve, corner and angle until they came to rest on her hips. Hermione hung on to strong shoulders, afraid that would melt into a puddle under the other woman's fierce gaze and the fire that seemed to ignite wherever their bodies touched.

The need to touch, kiss, feel; to finger and dissolve began to pull at the fabric of her restrains, making them come apart like the catching of a singular thread.

Hermione knew with all her logical being and understanding of the English language that Fleur had said "not tonight". But Hermione also wanted, pressed and moaned into Fleur trying to cross boundaries set moments ago. She had waited too long in her work day to tell Fleur, stretched her patience to accommodate her friends and their quidditch frenzie and now, she couldn't contain herself.

She blamed it on the two beers she had, unwilling to accept the startling idea of being so sexually aroused by another woman.

Her hand fell from Fleur's shoulder, running past a mound of soft flesh encased in fabric and then a thin wire, crossed tensing abdomens and halted at the frills of a cotton shirt. Hermione fingered them, teasing the skin beneath and Fleur reacted by kissing her deeper, tongue entering the confines her mouth and grazing against pink muscle with delicious nostalgia. Instinctively, Hermione's hand trailed even lower until it was cupping Fleur's heated core through her long skirt.

The blonde gasped into her mouth, her body trembling. Hermione kissed her harder, with need and want and alcohol all on her breath. Her grip on Fleur's shoulder tightened, unwilling to relent until Fleur was kissing her back and grinding against her palm.

"'Mione." The older witch cried, trying to pull away. It seemed that her body was confused, pushing and pulling against Hermione at the same time. The idea that Fleur was so tempted and spellbound _by her_ that her mind and body went against each other excited Hermione.

The blonde was unyieldingly and almost maddening perfect, all the time. There wasn't a moment when Fleur looked dumbfounded or lost; her limbs always knew where to be to look strong and elegant, her hair even on its messiest days looked styled and prepped for a picture. Yet here Fleur was—the same Fleur that walked passed men as they stared, groveled and begged for attention—breathily kissing Hermione with unbidden passion, hand weakly wrapped around her wrist trying to pry them away from a _very_ sensitive spot.

Hermione angled her palm, directing more force onto the spot above the wetness she felt with her fingers.

Fleur whimpered.

"You make the sexiest noises." Hermione husked before crushing their lips together so the other woman had no time to agree or protest. In response, Fleur made a sound akin to growling and moaning at the same time, hands groping her behind and heaving her upwards. Suddenly, Hermione was taller, higher, legs wrapped around Fleur's waist, her hand forced to take leave from the warmth it sought between two heavenly thighs.

"Bedroom." Fleur mumbled, kissing her neck and biting down onto velvety skin.

* * *

"And then!?"

Parvati Patil yelled through the flames of Hermione's fireplace, making the embers and wood crackle.

"You two were snogging and _what happened_?!"

"I got cold feet!" Hermione said, covering her face with shame.

"Cold feet? Cold feet?! You get cold feet when you're doing something you've never done before!" Parvati sounded dramatically exasperated, "You've done it at least three times!"

"But I don't remember!" Hermione's face heated to a hotter degree than before, something she didn't know was possible. "What if I mess up? We didn't drink as much!"

Parvati loudly sighed. "So you two just…?"

"I freaked out and asked her to stop. We went to sleep, together." Realizing the implications, Hermione quickly added, "Next to each other. For the whole night. She made me breakfast the morning after."

"What do you want me to do?" Parvati asked, confused. "What was so urgent then? Did she hex you after?

"No." Hermione swallowed, knowing what she was about to ask would not be easily given. "I need your help, Vati"

They had been ambivalent friends through the years but after the war, with Lavendar's death, Parvati sought comfort in her other roommate. Hermione offered a crying shoulder and, in return, Parvati helped her through her last year at Hogwarts and her eventual break up with Ron—despite having already graduated. They grew close, maintaining contact even after Hermione had attained a job with the Ministry while Parvati stayed at Hogwarts as an apprentice to Trelawney.

"There is a potion—"

"—Oh no." Parvati's eyes widen in realization and she shook her head ardently, "I know exactly which one you're thinking of and the answer is no."

"I just need the ingredients you have access to." Hermione insisted. "I'll brew it myself."

"Padma!" Parvati called out to her sister.

"Padma is there?"

A familiar face appeared in her fireplace, identical to Parvati's but with her long, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Padma greeted her with slight fondness and Parvati explained that her twin was visiting. "Tell Hermione those horror stories about the Remembrance Potion."

Padma gasped, the flames withered as if she actually inhaled the air that fueled it.

"Hermione Granger. Why would you need _that_?"

"I didn't say _I_ needed it." Hermione glared at Parvati. "It—it's for a friend."

Padma lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, as if she had heard the excuse multiple times before. She probably had. "I will not disclose information about the potion or how to brew it _properly_ if I don't know why you need it."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh tiredly. "Okay, okay. Come over, we might as well meet face to face."

A couple minutes and flashes of emerald light later, Parvati and then Padma appeared through her fireplace. She greeted Parvati with a long overdue hug and, to her surprise, Padma offered her hand. Hermione shook it with a shy, embarrassed smile. It was the first time she had seen Padma since the war ended. The more studious of the twins chose to undergo a rigorous program of specialized potions brewing with St. Mungo's Research and Development team.

"How is the research going?" Hermione offered to make tea, trying to lighten the conversation, "Parvati tells me your team had made quiet a breakthrough."

Padma nodded, quiet and introverted as usual. "However, due to my contract, I cannot tell you the nature of our wonderful discovery." She offered an shy smile.

"That's quiet alright," Parvati piped as they sat down around they fireplace. "We're just here to tell you what you're doing is _bad_. Idiotic. Moronic. I never thought I'd actually have to use that word to describe you, Hermione."

"Yes," Padma agreed, "You understand that the Rememberance Potion has not been cleared by the Ministry of Magic to be used by the general public, correct?"

"Yes. But it exists. I've read that—"

"—you need to read more, as you are not scared of using it."

"I know, I've read about it. But I also know the Ministry uses it…as an interrogation strategy." Hermione revealed, determined. "I have the instructions to brew it. I just need the ingredients Hogwarts has access to. Parvati…"

"No! Absolutely not! Just for a girl!" Parvati exclaimed, "You are being foolish!"

Padma gasped. Parvati covered her mouth. Hermione wondered just how long before the entire world would know about her relationship with Fleur. She hadn't decided what she was going to tell Padma to convince her—the truth probably. But she would rather have it come from her own mouth.

The entire room, small and somewhat cramped with books and loose parchment, went quiet. Hermione waited for Padma's judgment, for her eyes to turn into that look of disgust and revulsion. To her surprise, the other woman shrugged then smiled, somewhat knowingly.

"I've always wondered…" Padma said, more to herself. "You had no problem facing and befriending boys at Hogwarts. Most people attributed it to your crush on Ron or Harry, depending on who you asked, but I always had an inkling…"

"…How?" Hermione, flushed, grew more and more interested as Padma spoke. "I—I don't give off a _gay_ vibe or—"

The twins laughed, shaking their heads in unison.

"Do you remember on our fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione nodded, "Every time Fleur Delacour's name was mentioned or when she walked by, you would stare…most people thought it was out of hatred but—"

"—It makes so much sense now!" Parvati exclaimed, "You were so awful to her because you liked her!"

"I didn't like her then." Hermione denied. "At least, not consciously."

It was a half lie. She did. Somewhat. Maybe. She didn't want to admit it. Fleur just looked really good in her silky, blue uniform.

"You didn't like her '_then_'?" Padma repeated, putting emphasis on the last word. "Does that mean now you do…?"

The woman was observant, Hermione could see the gears turning in her head.

"All of this…is for Fleur Delacour? Merlin, is she not engaged to Bill Weasley?" Padma, despite being accepting of her sexuality, looked incredulously at her.

"Padma!" Parvati objected, slapping her twin on the shoulder. "Hermione would never! They've been separated for years now."

"Fleur actually lives next door." Hermione said, nodding her head to the wall that separated their apartments. Her two guests looked panicked for a moment, mouth opening but she knew their question. "The walls here are thick. Except for the bathroom. She can't hear you."

Padma still looked to be in slight shock and said, quietly, "Do you love her?"

"I—I don't know. We've only just begun…" Hermione was visibly shaken by the word. "We haven't even discussed what our relationship is…"

"Are you two girlfriends?" Padma straightforwardly asked.

"No…"

"Casually dating?"

"I don't think s—"

"—oh for the sake of Merlin's beard, Padma, they had some drunken one night stands!" Parvati said bluntly, tired of the back and forth. "'Mione needs the potion to remember what they did because now she wants to _make love_ to—"

"No—I don't—not love, not yet." Hermione sputtered. "I don't know!"

"If not for Fleur's love, why else would you be willing to risk your ability to think." Parvati droned, "And only love can make a girl so blind."

"_It is not love_." The brunette seethed.

Was it?

"If it is not love then I will not help in your cause." Padma said. Parvati nodded in agreement.

Hermione bit on her lip, refusing to let frustrated tears fall. Padma's approval and advice she could go without but the ingredients, she needed. "Vati, _please_."

Her longtime friend and roommate offered an apologetic and sad smile. "Think it over, Hermione. Let your feelings come to pass. Once you have figured your true feelings towards Fleur, I may be more willing to help. There's no use to put so much at risk when you could simply be infatuated with her. Who knows, it could be a stage. Padma dated several girls during her training program."

Hermione's mouth dropped. No wonder the researcher seemed so unfazed by her sexuality.

"Parvati!" Padma shot daggers at her sister.

"Well since you know about Hermione, it was only fair that she knows about you." Parvati teased, knowing her sister was more than comfortable discussing that time in her life. "I'm the only one who hasn't been with a girl here. After hearing your responses, I'm wondering if I should hop the fence. There ought to be something special about kissing girls if two of the brightest women I know are snogging them left and right."

"It's not about kissing them or anything. Or even about being with a girl." Hermione's cheeks warmed.

"What is it about?"

"Fleur." Blood rushed to her face, "I've never felt that with anyone else. Not even with Ron."

"When did these feelings appear?" Padma's voice became therapeutic and Hermione, after knowing about the girl's history, felt more willing to share. Maybe it was better to discuss it with people outside her mind.

Hermione sighed. "If I am being honest with myself, over a year now."

The twins gasped.

"It wasn't always like this." Hermione started.

"When I first moved in next door we weren't the best of friends. But Harry assured me that Fleur, underneath the glamour and pretty cloths, was a good person. He asked me to befriend her. So I tried, for Harry's sake. Instead of finding this really haughty and snobby woman you'd remember from Hogwarts," Hermione did not want to mention her incident at the Malfoy Manor and Shell Cottage. "Fleur was welcoming, kind and warm. We bonded. And then… "

"Then what happened?" Parvati asked, uncharacteristically quiet and gentle.

"I just started noticing the little things. Like how lovely her laugh is. I started enjoying her company and how witty she was. I know this sounds so cliché but it never occurred to me that I could fancy another girl. Let alone Fleur." It was a half-truth, she never pondered on the idea because it was too scary, too life changing if it was true.

"I just kept thinking it—my fascination with Fleur—would go away, kind of like a child's fascination with a new toy, you know? Except, it didn't."

* * *

**Several Months Ago…**

Hermione sat awkwardly stiff at the fine dinner party, hosted at a massive and ornate ballroom. Next to her, Fleur was having an avid discussion of the fashion trends with Justine, her colleague. She studied the woman, dark eyes with dark hair, with growing jealousy. Fleur had spoken so highly of her in their earlier conversations and upon setting eyes on Justine, Hermione knew she hated her for all the wrong reasons.

It wasn't just because Justine was the same age as her yet majorly successful in her endeavors as a law clerk—a position Hermione had yet to reach. It wasn't because Justine's hair was dark and flowed down past her shoulders in waves while Hermione had to pull her untamable hair into a bun. No, it had to do with the fact that, when she first set eyes on Justine, Fleur gasped, left her side, greeted her and said;

"You look stunning."

_Don't I look stunning? ´_Hermione wondered, playing with the fabric of the dress Fleur had helped her pick out. Fleur was the reason she came to the dreaded dinner party—she couldn't deny pouty pink lips and watery blue eyes, not when Fleur's hands were gently and pleadingly wrapped around hers. Wasn't she supposed to be Fleur's plus one? Shouldn't she be doted on?

(_Like you're her date_? A voice teased in her mind. She ignored it.)

As the night wore on she felt more like Fleur's shadow than companion, sitting quietly at the table and then accompanying her from group to group as the blonde spoke to other witches and wizards. Fleur would introduce her briefly and then spearhead into a conversation, leaving Hermione to watch and listen.

In truth, Fleur looked ravishing. If not for her foul mood, she, like the rest of the party, would be taken by Fleur's natural charms and grace. The air, the mood, the lighting, everything in the ballroom reminded her of the Yule Ball—with significantly less hormonal teenagers and better music. She wished someone—Fleur came into mind—would pay attention to her so that she could enjoy the atmosphere better.

Hermione didn't want to admit it but when she looked at the center of the room, filled with young and old couples alike, she wanted to be part of the group. It was enchanting to watch them as they swayed to the rhythm of the music, happily laughing and conversing. She wanted someone to dance with. Unknowingly, her eyes drifted back to Fleur who was now talking, in French, with an elderly couple. She watched her friend for a little while, allowing her dull mood to be calmed by the fact that she was able to make Fleur happy.

"Excuse me." A voice from her left drew their attention. "May I have this dance?"

Fleur, who had been getting frequent requests the entire night, casually apologized and declined the offer. That was when the young gentlemen, blonde with green eyes garbed in a sleek dress robe, smile wryly and redirected his question.

"My apologies, Ms. Delacour for misdirecting my question. I am well aware that you do not entertain dances at social outings such as these." Fleur didn't dance with anyone? It was hard to believe considering her notoriety as the most beautiful, sought after girl in the room. "I meant to ask your beautiful friend here."

Fleur's face steeled but the corners of her mouth lifted to form a well-practiced smile. "If that is what Hermione wishes."

The mentioning of her name drew her (by Fleur) out of her thoughts. The young man turned, smiling at her. "Hermione? A pretty name for a pretty lady. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Edward Kinsley and it would be an honor to dance with you tonight."

Hermione blushed. It was flattering that someone had actually paid attention to her. Hesitantly, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She gave one last, excited glance back at Fleur—whose mouth was pressed into a thin line—and smiled. Surely, her friend would not be angry if she left for a few dances especially seeing as she could not understand half the conversations the blonde was having.

Hermione spent the rest of the night dancing with various gentlemen of the party. It seemed that once she entered the circle of swaying, dancing couples, it was an open invitation for other suitors to dance with her. She caught Fleur staring with an unreadable expression on her face several times in the hour but couldn't leave to the make sure the blonde was okay.

As people began to leave towards the last half hour of the dinner party and Hermione became relieved; her feet were getting sore. As she let go of her last dance partner's hand, Hermione's began searching for Fleur. To her shock and amazement, the blonde was in front of her when she turned, wearing the same indiscernible expression since Hermione left her side. Abruptly, Fleur took her hand and waist, stepping forward so that Hermione, naturally, stepped back. They fell into the rhythm of the violin and fiddle playing in harmony.

Suddenly, her feet were not hurting anymore.

"Fleur? Is this your way of asking me for a dance?" The older witch was known to be direct, almost arrogantly and snobbishly so, when she wanted something.

"Hypothetically, if I were, would you decline?" There was an edge to Fleur's voice that made the back of Hermione's hair stand in excitement.

"Rescind a dance? From the most beautiful girl in the room? Absolutely not!" The response drew a smile from Fleur, a real one. Hermione knew because Fleur's real smiles always made the bottom of her eyes rise as if she was ever-so-slightly squinting.

"_Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle Granger._" Fleur whispered into her ear as she brought their bodies closer together until Hermione was resting her head on the taller woman's shoulder. She felt herself relax in Fleur's arms. With the others, she was careful to not step on anyone's feet and too tense to enjoy herself. Rather than leading her through the dance, Fleur was slow and guiding her to the sway of the music.

She liked it. Maybe a little too much, her heart was thumping erratically.

"I'm sorry this had to be such a boring experience for you." Fleur released a long held sigh that tickled her neck.

Hermione softly snickered. "Was I that obvious?"

"_Non, ma chérie_." Fleur squeezed her hand in comfort. "It would not be a dinner party if it is not boring. They are established for the upper wizarding class to mingle, you understand? I try to avoid them as much as possible but being a Delacour and my mother's unmarried daughter, they require me to attend at least the largest gathering once a year."

Hermione gasped, realizing the importance of the event. "But why would you take me, Fleur? If you wanted to avoid the suitors, you could have brought one of the boys."

Fleur gently nuzzled her nose on Hermione's temple. "Your company is the one that I desire most. When you are standing next to me, I remember that this night will end and tomorrow's sun will rise. I remember that I have gracious and wonderful friends such as yourself—and the boys—and this terrible event will be over soon."

"You French are too damn romantic." Hermione smartly commented, felting her cheeks heat. In her boredom, she had sipped on one too many flukes of champagne and a single defining thought tumbled from her lips. "It is a good thing you are not a man Fleur, or else I would be smitten."

She immediately regretted those words the moment Fleur stiffened. There was an awkward pause where their dance halted for a moment before continuing. They danced like that for several moments, the air thick with tension.

Fleur broke the silence, whispering quietly into her ears, "Does gender matter so much to you?"

Hermione's heart rammed against her chest at the words. She had been fervently avoiding the question within her own mind whenever her eyes wandered, scandalously, up and down Fleur's figure. (And they had been doing that, for some time now.) She ignored its pleas and cries every time she stared too long at the blonde or anytime when Fleur would invite her to watch a muggle movie. She had a more extensive knowledge of muggle customs, Hermione justified to herself, every time they would press up against each other underneath a blanket with the television on.

"I—" Hermione pulled away from Fleur's shoulder, the physical contact becoming uncomfortable. She kept wondering if Fleur could hear and feel the thundering of her heart. "Fleur, I—"

"Oh forget that I asked." Fleur smiled, hurt in her eyes. "We should not be discussing such heavy topics on an awful night, non? Besides, it is not my business. My sincerest apologies for asking, Hermione."

"But Fleur—I want to—" Blue eyes looked at her with apprehension. Hermione felt their forehead knock together and realized how close Fleur's face was to hers. A part of her knew that this was not the way friends treated each other; she knew that friends did not invite other friends to dinner parties and danced with them. She knew that friendship was her and Parvati sharing the latest news and laughing together.

She and Fleur's relationship had shades of that as well; they laughed together, listened to each other complain—about legal and fashion laws—but there was always this tension. It often felt like there was a magnet placed within her body opposite to Fleur's and they had to struggle to stay apart else they would come together.

Hermione wondered, how deliciously liberating it would be for them to collide.

She played with the tempting thought for a moment and then remembered that the real world existed. No matter what, she still was standing in the middle of a ballroom, intimately holding her _friend_, with many pairs of eyes watching with discretion. Hermione pulled away as the song ended.

(_Ahh, how liberating it would be for our lips to have touched_, a voice swooned in the back of her mind.)

(Another angrier voice, begged her to make distance.)

(And yet another voice yelped in fear. She had no experience, no knowledge of the foray she was undertaking.)

In the end, Hermione buried all the voices away and returned to the dinner table where she had originally started the night, glaring Justine down with ongoing jealousy. Fleur followed, sitting down and finishing off her glass of wine with a single swig.

It was the first time she had ever wanted to kiss another woman. The first time in years since she felt any kind of remote attraction towards any person. And it wouldn't be the last. In the following months, she watched the way she thought and spoke around Fleur, careful not to evoke the same voices she had heard. No matter how hard she tried though, Fleur would find a way to worm into her thoughts.

* * *

"My feelings for Fleur didn't go away. Not a single bit." Hermione covered her hands over her face, suddenly feeling like a school girl with a crush. "They kept on growing and growing and suddenly, I was wanting to hold her hand and making excuses to see her."

It didn't help that Fleur fed into her feelings, constantly doting on her with pleasant, friendly touches. Her mind riveted back to the first night she fell into Fleur's bed and how the older woman had taken care of her in their drunken state, how she slipped an arm around her waist and walked her home. And long before that, Fleur was kissing her cheeks in secluded corners to say hello and good night. In between those times were gentle hands slipping a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear, a comforting palm on her shoulder, deliberate and delicate touches. Friendly yet more so.

"I just kept repressing all of it."

"It would explain why, in an inebriated state, you would fall into her bed." Padma cleared her throat. "At least she feels the same way."

"I'm not too sure _how_ she feels about me…"

"She likes you enough to drunkenly roll in the hay with you." Parvati, ever so blunt, noted. "Enough to respect your request to stop last night and was not angry about it."

The witch of Indian descent continued, "Think about it, Hermione. You had sex with her, and then acted as if nothing happened. Twice. After the third time, you ran away from her after barely reciprocating her feelings. She accepted you back with open arms on the same day." Parvati then deadpanned, "It takes a certain kind of woman with an extraordinary amount of patience and lo—adoration towards you to withstand that."

"She likes you." Padma interjected with finality. "I am not sure any man in my life would be so kind and patient without getting angry at the fickleness."

"But what if she's given up?" Hermione began to panic, "What if today's breakfast was a parting gift?"

Padma and Parvati exchanged a knowing look.

"Hermione." Padma began. "It's not."

"And if she really likes you, your performance in bed should not matter." The other sister added.

"But I want it to be perfect. Or at least perform up to par."

"There are books, Hermione." Padma was insistent.

"Sex is different for everyone! Books can't tell me what Fleur likes!"

"Fleur like you!" Parvati sounded exasperated. "You've at least been with Ron, right? You have some experience. It's going to be _fine_."

Hermione averted her eyes to the ground. Sex was an embarrassing subject. "I want it to be better than fine."

She wanted it to mean something, wanted it to be special.

* * *

The two sisters brushed away ashes from their respective robes, both taking a seat opposite of each other on Parvati's small dinner table. They held strong in their conviction to not help the young English witch in her mission to brew her desired potion. The Remembrance Potion was one that, when not brewed and used properly, could send the user into an eternal, dreaming slumber. Its purpose was to relive a memory that could not be consciously recalled but, due to the possible side effects, the Ministry will probably never allow it to be used freely.

"She has it bad." Padma commented. They left shortly after Hermione had given up her pestering for the ingredients for the potion, probably seeing the solidarity of Parvati's decision in her eyes.

The other twin snickered, resuming her studies. "Whipped."

* * *

Hermione paced the length of her small living room.

She much preferred Fleur's open floor plan to her book filled, cramped space. To be completely honest, there were a lot of things she preferred about Fleur over anyone or anything else.

The brunette shook her head trying to focus; everything in her mind somehow drew back to Fleur. Hermione didn't know what to do, would Fleur expect sex the next time they met? Were they dating? Casually? Or not? She cursed her inexperience, realizing that in the twenty three years she had lived she had a grand total of two notches on her bedpost and one hazardous, traumatic relationship.

Defeated, Hermione sighed and grabbed her coat. Her apartment was too confining, she needed bigger space to withhold the thoughts that flurried about her mind.

London's usual cloudy and humid weather greeted her, along with the colder winds of late October. Cars and the usual evening runners zoomed pasted her, minding their own business. She wondered what it would be like to be a muggle, what her life would be like hadn't been blessed with magical abilities. It was a hard thing to ponder, seeing as she played a pivotal role in the Second Wizarding War but Hermione still daydreamed. They—herself, Ron, Harry and George—strayed from the magical world, from the attention, after the war. Even Ron grew tired of the relentless questions from journalists, fans and new friends.

Sometimes, Hermione liked the idea of a normal life, ignorant to the world outside their own society, unaware about the creatures that lurked in the dark—Dementors, lentifolds and so many others. It was maddening to return from Hogwarts, victorious, only to see London and the entire muggle world around them bustled without fear or intelligence that their world was at the brink of destruction.

_Ignorance is bliss_, Hermione thought as she looked up at the darkening sky. She had nightmares months after everything ended, constantly tensing at flashes of light. Everyone did.

A crowd of teenagers rushed pasted her, laughing. She watched them go.

Soon, Hermione found herself at the empty neighborhood park. The trees had long begun to color, its leaves falling onto cold, dying grass. She took a seat on a lonely bench, easing her mind into her life now. There was no reason to dwell in the past or to be jealous of muggles simply because they knew less than her. She had a job, friends, and a possible lover, she should be thankful.

Hermione pouted at the last thought, the word _lover_ making her goose-bump.

It bothered her that she had no words to describe Fleur. Or perhaps she had too many words. Fascinating. Beautiful. Arrogantly blunt. Astoundingly gentle. Caring. Lively. Loyal…Perhaps it was less about Fleur and more about the fact that she had no words to describe their relationship.

She knew a confrontation would be necessary but didn't know how to go about it. All the bravery she had was put in front of Fleur's door the night before and everything would have been perfect had they not been interrupted. It was harder now, realizing her inexperience in the likes of love and sex.

Her core throbbed, jumping to attention at the word. Immediately, her mind flung into memories of Fleur's soft skin and smooth tongue. That was possibly the scariest part of it all; knowing that Fleur had the ability to please her and knowing that Fleur used that ability to the best of her knowledge.

And Hermione? Hermione stumbled, clumsy, not knowing the valleys of Fleur's body. She wondered if Fleur had ever been with another girl—the blonde had attended an all-girls school—and jealousy flared to her throat. She felt sick from the assuming that she had been Fleur's first, her broken pride deflating to shame.

Deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice the wisp and glow of a patronus until an otter came to twirl about her, disappearing when it planted an obvious kiss on her cheek.

"Good evening." Hermione didn't have to look, she knew the voice. Fleur sat down next to her, dressed in a cardigan and decorative scarf. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"The pigeons and I were having a delightful conversation." Hermione reverted to sarcasm. Neither of them laughed.

"I came by your apartment earlier. You weren't there and it was getting dark, so I got worried." Fleur explained, "I sent my patronus to find you."

"You can do that?"

Fleur nodded, "It's like tasking your patronus to deliver a message; the patronus becomes its own entity with its own intelligence, capable of finding the receiver of your message. Likewise, I can task it to locate, return and lead me to you."

"That's interesting."

They fell into silence again, like they had during breakfast that morning.

Hermione threw her head back, taking in a large gulp of cold air. She hung onto the whisper of Fleur's question from the previous night; _do you know how much I like you_?

"What's happening, Fleur?" Hermione looked at her for the first time since she sat down. The blonde, with her hair down and cheeks red from the chilly weather, looked so beautiful her chest ached. "What's going on with us?"

"Whatever you want."

"Why is it up to me?" Hermione was frustrated. She didn't know how to please herself or Fleur. Then Padma and Parvati brought to attention the ambiguity of their relationship and Hermione had been reeling from the questions since. Not knowing how to have sex with Fleur was one problem, asking herself if she _loved_ Fleur was a whole other. "What do you want?"

Fleur's hand came to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind her, a habit she had developed and continued for over a year now. "I want you."

"How? Sexually? Emotionally?" Fleur's response made Hermione panic, opening a floodgate of questions, "Since when? _Why_?"

Fleur looked at her, pools of cloudy blue eyes wide and unreadable. "I do not think you are ready for those answers."

Hermione met Fleur's intense gaze with her own. "Try me."

The tension between them grew. Fleur cupped her face and Hermione learned into her soft palm, trying to let the other woman know that she was here. She was ready for an answer, ready for clarity. Ready to move forward.

"When? Thursday, mid-November, eight years ago. In your Arithmancy class." Hermione went slack jawed. "I sat in your class, bored, during my free hour. You were wearing your uniform with the sleeves rolled up, fervently answering questions. At one point, you dared to challenge the professor and proved him wrong. By the time the class was over, I was enchanted."

A pause.

"When? At the Yule Ball. When? At my wedding to Bill. Again, at Shell Cottage. Again when you became my flat mate. Every time I thought I had forgotten about you or moved on, there you are in my life to remind me what I had given up." Fleur took in a shaking breath and Hermione felt lightheaded. "Why? Because I love the way you're not afraid to stand up for what's right. I love the passion in your soul, your bushy hair, the way you walk, talk, how you're willing to help anyone who needs it."

"And how do I want you? In whatever way you are willing to give to me, Hermione." Fleur's eyes watered but she laughed nervously, "Because, you see, no matter how hard I have tried to stay away, to give you the chance to live your life happily with a romantic interest, you always find your way back to me. I just—I thought, maybe, this time instead of running away, I should try to form some kind of a relationship with you."

Fleur visibly deflated, as if everything she had held inside of her came rushing out. Her hand still rested on Hermione's cheek, making warmth blossom in the small crevices that separated their skin.

"So…" Hermione's world spun. "You've been trying to woo me?"

"Not initially." Fleur smiled sheepishly, "I was happy to be your friend…then one day, I caught your eye looking at me like you did towards Ron all those years ago. To say I was hopeful when I realized there was a possibility you could return my feelings, is an understatement."

"You should have been more direct." Hermione mumbled, blushing. "It would have saved me many sleepless nights."

"_Ma belle, _I did not want you to scare you. How would you have reacted if I kissed you then?" Fleur made a face, raising her voice. "You would have thought, '_What a strange, French, lesbian veela!'"_

"No!" Hermione stifled a laugh. "I would have—"

"—ran for the hills!" Fleur finished. The tense air around them dissipated. Hermione looked up at the older witch, smiling. "I wanted you to like me, naturally."

"I...I do like you." Hermione's face turned ten different shades of red. "I'm just so confused."

"How so?"

"Am I gay? Bisexual? Are we dating? Casually? Or girlfriends? What am I supposed to do in this situation?"

"Why do you need to put a label onto who you are?" Fleur looked at her as if she were looking at a ten year old who had just painted their legs green because they wanted long green socks. "It is like taking a brilliant, shining star and encasing it within a dark room. Be yourself. You've won my heart that way, _non_?"

"How do I—" Hermione stammered at Fleur's directness. "It's just so hard, Fleur!"

"What do you want right now, Hermione?"

She looked up at the blonde, who had long wrapped her arms around Hermione's shoulder and brought the younger witch against her chest. Hermione stayed still for several moments, looking at Fleur and breathing in the cool autumn air. She was collecting herself and all the parts that had separated before, during and after the war; pushing them together like puzzle pieces. Her life felt whole again, filled with friends and family.

Now, she was ready to include the final missing piece.

"I want you."

* * *

Let me know what ya'll think. :) Reviews are always appreciated. Feel free to stop by my fleurmione blog on tumblr, I've posted one-shots and ficlets there that don't belong on my ff page. (link on my profile page) Good night everyone!


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